Riding The Bullet
by Doc Holliday
Summary: James Bond takes an unforgetable ride on the Underground's Bullet and gets another run in with the Stasi.


Riding The Bullet.  
  
By Doc Holliday  
  
  
  
Chapter One: Good Bye Old Friend.  
  
Sentimental as it might sound, James Bond felt the pit of his stomach drop out over something as insignificant as a car, when he watched Carl Sumners - the only technician he would ever allow to even touch the Bently - roll the car into his small garage and close the door. It rattled down noisily. When he was finished, Sumners turned to face him.  
  
"You can pick 'er up tomorrow, James."  
  
"No same day service?"  
  
"Sorry, James, but your not the only customer. Besides," he laughed. "I want to keep ths baby as long as possible."  
  
"I'll just bet you would." Bond said. "But I kinda need that car; gotta go into the office, you know."  
  
"You still with Universal?"  
  
"Transworld. Same firm, new name."  
  
"Ah well, sorry, James but looks like you get to try out England's finest in underground."  
  
"Don't remind me." Bond said, turning to leave.  
  
"James!"  
  
He turned to see Carl with his hand outstretched, fingers curling in and out. Bond narrowed his eyes, as if thinking hard, then dug into his pockets and threw a silver comet of keys at Sumners. He caught it with the clumsiness of a man whose reflexes have been dulled away by slow times. Sumners thanked Bond for his "contribution" and bid him a fond fairwell.  
  
Turning toward the circular logo with the word UNDERGROUND, and an arrow leeding down a flight of stairs, Bond said a quiet goodbye to his best friend - the car, not Sumners - and silently hoped that the Bently Contenintal would be safe.  
  
  
  
Chapter Two: Platforms and People.  
  
Bond walked down the flight of stairs and into the crowd of people (which could have been larger) standing on the metal platform and waiting for the train. Bond had never liked the undergrounds, or much of any public transportation for the matter of that, they were too impersonal, too undignified. It wasn't that he wanted to call attention to himself. In fact that was the last thing he wanted to do. But the trains had always seemed to dark and general, as opposed to the tailor made comfort of his Bently.  
  
"Be sure all personal objects are safe. " the recorded voice blasted from the speakers. "Pickpockets operate at this station."  
  
The thought of a pickpocket slipping into his jacket pocket made Bond grin that slightly cruel smile he was always told he posessed. He would have loved to see the face of any pickpocket who slipped into the wrong side of his jacket and touched the cold metal of the PPK that hung just under his left armpit. That would have been quite a sight, at that.  
  
Before long, the train made it's presence known before it actually made an appearence, as a steady rumble that Bond supposed had been there the whole time, only masked by the noise of the crowd, began to grow louder untill the the platform shook beneath him and the great metal snake finally made itself known. It flew up to the station with a speed that sent a breeze wooshing past Bond and stopped with a swiftness that was staggering considering the speeds it was going only second before. Now it was stopped, a great salamander under the roads of London. There was a bell toll and the doors slide open.  
  
Now the ants were set into march as a swarm of people droned off the train and a whole nother group of strangers swarmed on. All of them passed without so much as a glance or wave of the hand. Like strangers in the night, as the old saying goes. None them knew each other, or cared to know and the whole minute of the tiny play showed Bond just how insignificant both he and all the people around him were. It showed him that, he would never admitt it even if he had known it conciously - which he didn't - but that's what it showed to it's newest passenger.  
  
Sitting on the relitivly uncrowded train, Bond began to think that perhaps, just perhaps, this wouldn't be so bad. Might even turn out to be a fun ride. He didn't know it at the time, but he would soon change his mind, and fast.  
  
The door slide silently closed and the train speed into motion, going what seemed to Bond to be too fast. He felt as if he was pushed sideways in his seat before the ride finally smoothed out and he could sit naturally and atcually see the ride as soothing. The great salamander slipped through the lower section of London, completly silent, but completly deadly.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three: Riding The Bullet.  
  
The bang came without warning and without remorse for the actions it was about to commit. It was a thing, a thing of destruction and terror, yes, but a thing. It could not feel, it could not care. For that reason, the trains brakes first snapped under the stress and the explosion then fell off and tumbled away from the racing dragon. The second explosion occured at the head of the train when the automatic cut-off box ripped into pieces and followed the brakes.  
  
The train lurched once, twice, three times as it speed up, moving down the tunnel like an arrow from Odysseus's bow moving through the challenged axe heads. It drove on through the blackness, it's spotlight cutting through the dark like a knife, lighting the trains way briefly before the scenery changed.  
  
The first lurch sent Bond into a pole to his left hard enough to give him a smart crack across the fore head, and causing his teeth to clamp his lower lip between them and sending droplets of blood flying. The second lurch sent him cascading into the aisle where most of the people now lay. The third sent him once more into the air to now land atop a young man who appeared to be unconcious with a river of blood flowing from the line of his blonde hair.  
  
Bond stood up, hand moving toward the PPK in his holster by instinct more than thought, and felt the loss of balance that had plaugued him in the begining of this ill-fated ride. This time it didn't go away as it had before. The first time, the train had steadied off and his balance had come back. Now his balance dwindled and almost failed him, but it never fully came back.  
  
The train's speeding up, he thought.  
  
With no more hesitation, Bond dashed up the train toward the engine car, playing hop-scotch with the bodies below him. If someone were to decide to stand up they were apt to catch a steel-capped shoe between the eyes, and Bond was apt to go head over heels on top of others and the metal floor. He ran anyway, hoping all the time that no one had the urge to see the gun-toating man running over them.  
  
Bond wrenched at the connecting doors and stepped through the black connection tunnel. The first car looked almost like the second, decorated in the same disaray of bodies, some now beginning to stir and stand on unsure legs, others still unconcious or worse. Bond jumped these with the speed that only showed itself under the cultured exterior when needed, and darted around the others. Within seconds he had reached the connecting tunnel from the first to the second cars.  
  
Inside the first car there really was nothing beside an instrument pannel that lay half in and half out of the train. The bottom flooring of the engineers box had been ripped away by the second blast, taking the engineer with it. Looking down Bond watched the underside of the tracks fly away in a massive blur of two parallel lines. The instrument pannel hung on the brink of this hole with one corner of metal scraping the tracks with a shower of golden sparks.  
  
From the back of the pannel, more sparks flew against the cabin itself. Bond thought fast (fast enough?) and moved toward it, being careful to avoid the hole.  
  
"Alright, Mister." a shaky voice said behind him. "You better put the gun down and step back in here. Man, do it slow 'cause I'll bean you, I swear."  
  
Bond raised both hands in the air and turned around slowly. He expected to come face to face with the man responsible for all of this, but he didn't. I fact what he saw was a young man with blonde hair and blood running from a gash across the hair line. Above him he had raised a large piece of metal he obviously meant to use as a weapon. In his eyes, Bond saw the inexperience that only youth can put there and a fear of what was going to happen next.  
  
"You better stop this train right now, 'cause I swear-"  
  
"I know you won't believe me but you're going to atleast have to trust me." Bond said making sure to keep eye contact. "I'm one of the good guys, just like you. I know that looks hard to swallow but it's true and if you don't help me we're all going to run out of track or, worse yet, hit another train."  
  
The man seemed to think this over as he sized Bond up with his eyes. It was only a few seconds but it stung like an eternity until finally he spoke. "How?" he dropped the metal.  
  
"Come help me and be sure to mind the hole." Bond said putting the Walther back under his jacket. "Grab the other end of the the controls and pull. We have to try and wedge it under the train." he said, grimacing at the metallic taste of blood from his lip.  
  
The boy said nothing but started to work lugging and wrenching at the metal monster. Bond set to the other side, trying despratly to pry the box from it's setting in the wall. It took almost a whole minute before there was a crack and the groan of stressed steel. Then, taking it's on time, the pannel slide, then fell into the hole.  
  
It tumbled under the train like a child's building block thrown against the wall, then caught just behind the engineers cabin and wedged the train against the tracks. The underground groaned and screamed as its wheels spun but didn't move. The back wheels dug into the metal tracks and moved the train a ahead slighty, sending the front car vertical and with the first car was now raised off the ground, moving it proved impossible as the back wheels stopped, shrieked, and the axiles snapped like twiggs under the pressure.  
  
Now it sat in the middle of the darkened rails, a stranded ship in the night with it's beacon lighting the way for whatever survivors there were. Thank you for choosing the Underground, we hope you enjoyed your trip.  
  
The bullet had stopped.  
  
  
  
Chapter Three: Into The Tunnel.  
  
When the pannel finally wedged itself under the mighty snake, there was a fourth, final, and powerful lurch. The front of the train flew upward, rearing it's cobra head and sending Bond's head against the back of the cabin in a painful spray of red. Lights danced before his eyes as he struggled to keep concious. He lay on the left side of the cabin against what little of the wall there was. Next to him, lay the young man, who groan and rubbed the top of his head.  
  
For a few minutes they lay on either side of the door as men who had just gone through hell and had lived to tell the story. They looked at each other with the relief to be alive, mixed with the ergency to get off of the death-trap train.  
  
"Come on," Bond said rolling over into the doorway. The first car carried only about ten people, the bad part was that all ten of them now lay on top of one another at the bottom of the car. "Follow me, becareful because if you fall you're going to hurt more than someone's feelings."  
  
"Sure, but how are we gonna do this?"  
  
"Carefully." Bond said, starting down like a spider, clumbing from seat to seat and hugging the poles. The kid started down after him, doing the same thing but a little bit more unsure. That's about what knocked him down.  
  
In the time span of about two seconds the kid's hand missed, simple as that, he swiped too hard at the support beam and totally missed. His hand went straight passed the metal, swung sideways, and fell. He yelled once and loud, and smashed between Bond's shoulder blades, sending both of them in a downward spiral. They bounced once off the floor before spiderwebbing the glass of the connecting door. Bond hit first, his foot cracking the glass, the kid feel next, only inches from Bond's head.  
  
"Sorry," he said, recovering.  
  
"You're lucky," Bond said. "You only hurt my feelings."  
  
They stood up on the door and looked around, they had missed everyone on the ground by shear luck, but now they had to figure how to get out of the train. Given the angle and the amount of people against it, opening the door to the second car proved impossible. They would have to look else where.  
  
"If you've got any ideas then I'm open," Bond said, "We could re-"  
  
The shots shattered the window next to them, one of them ripping a hole in Bond's shoulder. He cried out in pain and sank against the door, his shoulder on fire. The muscle in his arm twingged and screamed as the pain sent jolt after jolt through them. Outside another spray of bullets screeched through the now open window at them.  
  
Bond stood quickly, pulling the Walther with his wounded arm and firing blindly from the hip. Three reports echoed deafiningly through the tunnel but only one shot connected with anything but brick. Outside a the man whose dress had once been all black now stood covered in red, a quarter of his head was behind him, drying on the walls. Bond jumped through the glass in time to watch him hit the ground. Looking around breifly Bond stuck his head back into the car.  
  
"C'mere." he said motioning toward him. The kid jumped through the window and faced him. "What's your name?"  
  
"Ethan," he said, breathing heavy.  
  
"Alright, Ethan, I'm James. Now listen closly, I want you to get everyone out of the train, once you do tell them the police say to wait five minutes then follow after me. You got that?"  
  
"Yeah, James."  
  
"Good man. Now go."  
  
Without waiting for the kid to run back into the train, Bond ran forward into the darkness of the tunnel, the Walther now in his left hand. His heart pounded wildly and his shoulder ached like mad as he ran. He couldn't see anything and the risk he was taking was enormus, but he ran anyway. He ran on into the darkness and into the hands of something he couldn't change, perhaps a mistake he would regret.  
  
"Did you find it?" The voice was booming in the tunnel and impossible to pin-point.  
  
"No," Bond called. "Train's still running."  
  
"Damn," Slience. "Alright lets move back to the mantinence shed."  
  
There was the sound of many feet on gravel, then a door opened. Light streamed through breifly then winked out again as the door closed. Bond moved again, now feeling along the walls for the handle.  
  
He found it.  
  
With his Walther still in hand, Bond placed his left hand - gun and all - on top of the handled, pushed down and rammed hard inward.  
  
  
  
Chapter Four: Into the Light.  
  
What saved James Bond's life was night-vision. The very think that could have taken his life seconds before, now saved it with one swift stroke. He had been to far out of range the first time, so the goggles had completly missed him, now he was close enough, but it was light.  
  
Inside the tiny maintinence room were five men, all dressed in black jump suits that would allow them to move quickly and quietly through the tunnel. Two of them had removed their goggles, they could see him perfectly. That fact did them no good, however, considering their guns were more than three feet away.  
  
Bond's Walther jumped twice and one of the two fell. He dashed at the other and smashed his good elbow into the man's solar plexis, knocking the wind out of him. The three other men in the room couldn't see a thing in the florecent lights, but they reacted to the noise, clawing at the table for their weapons. Bond fired his last two rounds, taking the base of one's spine off and merely wounding the second. The third man slashed out with the only weapon he could find in his darkness, a stilleto. Bond kicked once, hard and heard the crack of the man's hand as three of the fingers broke. Pushing up once Bond jumped and kicked outward, smashing the steel caps of his shoes into the man's jaw.  
  
Now he had to get in touch with the office.  
  
Placing his Walther into it's holster, Bond flung open a second door and emerged on one of the main platforms. Not five feet away stood a guard. Without thinking of what he looked like - a gun shot wound in his shoulder, blood steaming from his head and motuh - Bond grabbed him roughly and put his face inches from the cop's.  
  
"Get all those trains stopped," he whispered fiercly. "There trouble on the track."  
  
Without waiting for a response he dashed up the longest flight of stair he'd ever seen, though it was more likely the feeling of exhaust he felt. He emerged in the daylight and sheilded his eyes briefly.  
  
I MUST FIND A PHONE, MUST TELL M.  
  
He stopped, mezmerized by the building in front of him. The large and almost flashy building that houses the former MI6, and current SIS, towered in front of him at it's perch next to the Thames. Bond glanced at his watch, he was a work five minutes early.  
  
Well, Bond thought. Early or not I'm not taking the underground again!  
  
  
  
Chapter 5: The Cover Up  
  
The British Secret Intelligence Service has territory outside of the UK. Commander James Bond, Agent 007 works for the forgien services, meaning he isn't a police man and holds no real authority inside the borders of the United Kingdom. It is bad form for one Intelligence Service to step on the territory of another and there for it gives good reason for MI5--the internal security service for the United Kingdom to be rather cross with the SIS. M, Head of SIS, responded to Head of Five, by saying that their man was in the right place at the right time and his actions were by no means an operation order by the service. This satisfied the hounds at Five and they caused little futher noise.  
  
It took all of about an hour for James Bond, M and the Cheif of Staff, Bill Tanner, to come up with a plot to satisfy the press. The story was that an unname, offduty securuty officer had managed to stop the train when a malfunction with the brakes caused the train to speed out of control. The officer in question could not be reached for comment and nothing further was said. The press accepted this and there was little other speculation.  
  
The service however, was different. They were literally up in arms about the fact that it seemed to be a professional job. No one ever claimed responsibility for the attack, but the latest uprisal of the Stasi had the SIS worried. Bond was the only Agent to have come into contact with the new, privately run Stasi at Sir Miles home, Quaterdeck. The service was worried, but they couldn't prove anything so there was nothing they could do. It wasn't until almost a year later that the New Stasi made their move an their identity known to the services of the world. 


End file.
